My Harp

O! harp it is not mine to stir
     Thy strings to burning melody;
Let some more favored worshipper
Strike the high notes inspired by her—
     The muse of softest harmony.

But be it mine with humbler lay,
     To wake the quivering string—
To while the weary hours away,
And find some pleasure for each day,
     In the brief song I sing.